


doubt truth to be a liar

by Grevling



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, F/F, bless them, flying by the seat of my pants in terms of religious references, i blame wikipedia for any failings on that front, i'm one of those pinko commies who goes to the unitarian universalist church, ineffable lesbians, infinite cosmic powers, itty bitty common sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-09-24 02:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20350528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grevling/pseuds/Grevling
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that in every office, classroom, or committee, there’s that one person who drives youabsolutely crazy- and who always, by some cruel trick of fate, ends up on your team for group projects.Regina, of course, is well aware of this - she’s the demon that invented it, after all. Regrettably for her, it turns out the same holds true even when your workplaces are the domains of Heaven and Hell, and the insufferable coworker in question is an angel with obnoxiously golden hair and an extremely limited self-preservation instinct.But when you're the only two beings on the planet who live for a thousand years, you tend to get... friendly, at least. Which is fine by Regina. Honestly.And then the Apocalypse arrives.--a Good Omens AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anoblebattle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoblebattle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [ineffable [Protostar Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496167) by [anoblebattle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoblebattle/pseuds/anoblebattle). 

> We're gonna vaguely follow the GO timeline from Episode 3, aka the gayest thing I've ever seen on film that wasn't actually gay, but then pretty much immediately break hard left and go our own way.
> 
> Regina's demonic name, Reginante, is a reference to both Rocinante and Dante (of Dante's _Inferno_). Emmael is just Emma, but with the angelic suffix, because hey, if it works don't fix it. (And don't worry - they're going to go back to Emma and Regina real quick.)
> 
> Many liberties have been taken with history, so please, don't come for me if you know better. It's just me and a Wikipedia timeline of LGBT events in history out here fighting the good fight, okay?
> 
> PS - never try to edit linked footnotes on mobile, because you might just delete most of your fic and have to rebuild everything from scratch from an unformatted Google doc D:

_Current theories on the creation of the Universe state that, if it were created at all and didn’t just start, as it were, unofficially, it came into being about fourteen billion years ago. The earth is generally supposed to be about four and a half billion years old._

_These dates are incorrect._

_Medieval scholars put the date of the Creation at 3760 BC. Others put Creation as far back as 5508 BC._

_Also incorrect._

_Archbishop James Ussher claimed that the Heaven and the Earth were created on Sunday the 21st of October, 4004 BC, at 9:00am._

_This, too, was incorrect. By almost a quarter of an hour._

_It was created at 9:13 in the morning, and the whole business with the fossilised dinosaur skeletons is a joke the paleontologists haven’t figured out yet. _

_This proves two things: firstly, that God does not play dice with the universe - She plays an ineffable game of her own devising. For everyone else it’s like playing poker in a pitch-dark room, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won’t tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time._

_Secondly, the Earth is a Libra._

_\--The Quite Nice and Fairly Accurate Good Omens Script Book: Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman_

* * *

**What Follows Are Snapshots of the Formation of a Very Unusual Friendship, as Experienced by the Angel Emmael and the Demon Reginante.**

* * *

**4004 BC, Eden**

It was a pretty good gig, Reginante thought, this demonic temptation business. 

Adam had been a bit of a non-starter - no imagination, that one - but Eve had seen the benefit in accepting the gift of knowledge made available to her, and had bitten into the apple almost right away, passing it with a smile to her oblivious counterpart.

And now, Reginante, flushed with pride at a job well done, leaned out over the stone wall to watch Her beloved _humans_ wander out alone into the wastes. A flash of light glinted off of the pair, and Reginante squinted, because it almost looked like Adam was carrying —

“Congratulations,” a voice said at her elbow, and Reginante bolted upright, her soot-black wings flaring behind her in surprise, to find an angel[1] lounging casually against the wall beside her, wings draped out over the desert, white feathers catching the sun.

“What do you want?” Reginante said, glaring. She was particularly proud of her glare, having practiced it in Hell until she could make all but the most powerful arch-demons freeze in fear[2]. 

But the angel just smirked and jerked a thumb out behind her to the retreating humans, now just small dots in the distance. “Well, we’re only a few - weeks?” she paused, face folding into a confused grimace. “I think that’s the right word - this whole ‘linear time’ schtick is a lot to get used to.” She flapped her hand carelessly, as if clearing the air. “Anyway, we’re only a few weeks into this ‘Earth’ gig, and you’ve already gotten the Head Honcho’s favored children expelled from their perfect home. That’s gotta be a feather in your wing, right?”

Reginante preened a little before she could stop herself - it _was_ a job well done, after all - then forced herself to frown instead. “What do you care, anyway?” she asked. “Are you trying to thwart me in return? Maybe get back in Her good graces after you failed to stop me?” She grinned, sharpening her teeth a little for the effect. “If it was a feather in _my_ wing, it has to be a black mark on _yours_.” She reached out and flicked one of the trailing primaries for effect. 

The angel shuddered and snapped her wings closed, standing a little straighter and shifting away from Reginante. “I uh - I haven’t heard anything about it, actually.” She shrugged, turning away to look out over the desert. “Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal after all.”

Reginante narrowed her eyes, considering. “Her Ineffableness kicked half of her children out of Heaven for just wanting to know too much about the “Plan” we were supposed to be following, and you think the humans ignoring Her direct instructions and eating the forbidden fruit is, quote, ‘not a big deal’?” 

The angel’s face creased, concern lining her forehead. “Well, no, but…”

“Wait!” Reginante said, looking the angel up and down, “Didn’t you have a flaming sword before?” The angel shifted awkwardly, and Reginante crowed in victory. “You _did_! I saw you up there with it, standing over the gate.” She smirked. “Looked like a real asshole, too.”

“I did not look like an asshole!” the angel protested, folding her arms, and Reginante gasped in delight. “Oh shut up,” the angel said, shoulders hunched. “You know as well as I do that swearing isn’t a cardinal sin as long as you aren’t taking Her name in vain. Anyway, the sword wasn’t _that_ important!”

“Not important? So far it seems like you and I have very different definitions of that word - it’s a _sword_ wreathed in _holy fire_, for Hell’s sake! Surely She isn’t okay with you, what, _losing_ it?” 

The angel’s eyes flicked out over the desert, lingering on the horizon. 

“Nooooo,” Reginante, drawled, delighted. “You _didn’t_.”

“Didn’t what?” the angel said, not meeting her gaze.

“You gave it to the humans, didn’t you!”

The angel pressed her lips together, holding back until - “It’s _dangerous_ out there!” she burst out, uncrossing her arms, hands fluttering in the air, “ And Eve’s pregnant! I couldn’t just let them wander off unprotected!” She took a deep breath, calming herself, and folded her arms back over her chest, sniffing and looking off to the side. “Besides,” she muttered, “wasn’t like I was using it anyway.”

A warm feeling sparked in Reginante’s chest - joy at the failure of an angel, she decided after a moment of consideration. Had to be.[3] Feeling magnanimous, she hitched up one shoulder. “Well,” she said, “if She hasn’t struck you down already, you’re probably in the clear, right?”

The slow smile that spread across the angel’s face made her glow like a sunrise. Reginante could hardly stand to look at her, it was so… nauseating. Then the angel, ugh, _sighed_, and said “Huh. You know, you’re probably right. Thanks,” in such a soft, heartfelt way that Reginante honestly thought she might heave. 

“Don’t mention it,” she said, ruffling her wings in an attempt to shake off the feeling. The angel stared at them, seemingly entranced as Reginante smoothed her coverts back into place, then quickly glanced away, blushing, when she quirked an eyebrow at her. 

“So…” Reginante said, “What will you do now? Not much of a Guardian of the Eastern Gate without anyone to guard.” She paused, flicking her eyes pointedly down at the angel’s empty hands. “Or guard with.” 

“I’m thinking of sticking around, if you really want to know,” the angel said, smoothing her hands down the front of her white robe. “See the sights, do some good deeds, etcetera. It’s more interesting down here than it is,” she gestures vaguely with one hand skyward, “you know, up there.”

Reginante, who had been thinking much the same thing about her own home base, grimaced. She had been hoping the angel would go back to Heaven and she would be free to explore this new planet in peace, but of course there would be no such luck for her. She smiled, in a way that was more about showing as many teeth as possible, rather than displaying any sort of happiness. “Great,” she said, from between clenched teeth. “I was hoping to be able to undermine Her half-baked plans.”

The angel rolled her eyes, shaking her wings loose and propping one foot up on the stone wall. “You just got lucky. And besides,” she said shrewdly, “what makes you think she didn’t _want_ you to give her that apple? She left it out in plain sight, after all.” 

And with one final wink, she was gone, launching herself off the wall and flapping away into the sunset, pursuing the humans and their uncertain future.

Reginante scoffed and turned away from the view, kicking a pebble off the wall and into the abandoned garden. Stupid angel, she thought, and suddenly realized she hadn’t even gotten her counterpart’s name, or given hers in return. 

Oh well, she rationalized - it wasn’t like she was ever going to talk to her again. Better to remain anonymous rivals anyway, right? It would be simpler that way[4].

With one last glance toward the horizon, Reginante shook out her own wings and stepped off the wall, gliding away from the sunset and into the night.

* * *

**3004 BC, Mesopotamia**

The next time she saw the angel, she was attempting to calm a unicorn.

In the rush and panic to get all the animals aboard the Ark before the storm arrives, one of the stupid creatures had broken free of its lead and barreled head-first into a tree, getting its horn stuck deep into the wood. 

With such limited time, Shem had called it a lost cause and returned to herding porcupines up the gangplank, but Reginante, who had been watching the goings-on from a bluff overlooking the plain[5], had glided down to see if anything could be done to help it - just to pass the time, of course.

She had just gotten the unicorn to unpin its ears and stop rolling its eyes in fear when a sudden voice from overhead made them both jump.

“Whatcha doing?”

Reginante swore soundly as the unicorn whinnied, kicking its back legs out and nearly snapping its horn off in an effort to break free of the tree. She shushed it quickly, running a hand down its neck and whispering in its ears, waiting until it calmed before glaring upwards. The angel was there, draped carelessly across the branches, chin pillowed on both hands. 

Reginante glared at her. “I _was_ trying to get this useless creature to calm down enough to let me free it. Which was working just fine - until _you_ scared it again.”

“Oh,” said the angel, tilting her head to the side. “That’s nice of you to do.”

Reginante growled. “_Nice_,” she spat. “I’m not _nice_. I’m a _demon_.” She drew herself up to her full height[6] \- not removing her hand from the unicorn’s neck, just in case the angel did something stupid - and thrust her chin forward. “I’m Reginante, Temptress of the Garden of Eden. I don’t do… _nice_.”

The angel snorted - a remarkably indelicate sound, Reginante thought - and stuck out one of her hands, dangling it down from the tree. “Well it’s _nice_,” she winked, “to meet you, then. I’m Emmael.” When Reginante simply stared at her hand, the angel - Emmael - wiggled it in front of her. “You grab my hand with yours and shake it,” she explained, making the motion with her hand. “It’s something the humans are doing now, as a greeting.”

Reginante reached up tentatively with the hand that wasn’t resting on the unicorn’s neck and clasped Emmael’s hand with her own. She braced herself - for what, she wasn’t sure, but touching something as holy as an angel surely wasn’t good for her demonic complexion - but there was no blistering, no shocks, nothing but soft skin, and Emmael shaking her arm enthusiastically in its socket. 

After a moment, Reginante looked quizzically at their interlocked hands. “Are we supposed to do something else?” she asked, turning Emmael’s hand over in her own. 

Emmael laughed sharply, disentangling herself from Reginante and dropping down from the tree in a series of less-than-graceful maneuvers. “Nah,” she said. “But now we’re officially, uh. Acquaintances.” 

“Joy,” Reginante said, dryly. “With that out of the way, I’m assuming you’re here to oversee that?” she asked, waving over at the hulking boat resting in the middle of the desert, tiny specks swarming about it in a frantic dance. “Making sure the good ones get rescued and the rest of the unfortunates get killed off as She intends?”

Emmael twisted her hands together, lips pressed in an uncomfortable line. “I don’t pretend to know why,” she said. “The whole point of the thing is that it’s… oh, you know—” she fluttered her hands in front of her, like a cut-rate magician, “_ineffable_.”

Reginante scoffed. “More like you can’t be _effed_ to ask questions about why She’s killing humans by the score,” she said, derision clear in her tone. 

“Questions are what got you kicked out of Heaven, if you remember,” Emmael said, not giving an inch. 

“And I don’t regret a single one,” Reginante said. “She’s not even sparing the children. There are _babies_ down there, Emmael. How can I _not_ question it?”

Emmael held her gaze for just a moment before looking away, snapping her fingers toward the unicorn’s horn, which, despite being wedged deeply in the tree just a moment before, was suddenly and miraculously freed. The unicorn tossed its head and whinnied, shaking its mane in delight at its freedom. 

“I could have done that, too,” Reginante said. “You’re not the only one with cosmic powers, you know.”

“I know,” said Emmael, running a finger down the unicorn’s long, soft nose. “But it’s nice to be able to use them for something, I don’t know. Simple, I guess,” she said, and flicked her gaze back up to meet Reginante’s. 

Reginante frowned, but was distracted by a sudden rumble of thunder. A shout went up by the Ark, and tiny figures began scrambling around the boat, battening hatches and pulling up the gangplank as the skies burst open, drenching Reginante and Emmael in seconds. The unicorn, startled by the noise, tore free of Reginante’s restraining hand and bolted for the bluff.

“Oh,” Reginante said, watching it run away from the Ark. “Well, I guess there wasn’t much of a point to saving it anyway. It’s just going to drown with the rest.” She glared at Emmael, who flinched.

“Yeah,” said Emmael, gazing after it. “I guess not.” She looked back at Reginante and smiled sadly. “You still did, though, didn’t you?” 

Reginante unfolded her wings[7] with a _snap_, using a demonic miracle to keep them from soaking through in the downpour. “Unlike you, I can’t just stand aside and watch,” she snarled, and leapt up into the storm. “Good luck with ineffability,” she said. “Hopefully she doesn’t decide you’re disposable next.”

A bolt of lightning forked down out of the sky and struck one of the trees nearby, lighting it ablaze. Pleased to have such a dramatic note to exit on, Reginante wheeled and flew toward the ark and the heart of the storm, leaving Emmael behind, face turned up into the rain. 

She didn’t look back.

* * *

**606 BC, Mytilene, Greece**

Emmael was _drunk_.

Before that moment, Reginante would have sworn that angels couldn’t get drunk - sullying the angelic host, and all that - but, no. That was definitely Emmael, and she was _definitely_ drunk as a skunk, lounging in the lap of a Greek beauty who was running her fingers through her hair. 

Reginante pulled up a padded stool next to her and leaned over, casting a shadow over her slack face. Emmael cracked one eye open and jolted upright, throwing her arms wide. “Regi- Regi_nante_!” she slurred, and turned to face the woman whose lap she had been lying in. “Hey, hey. Hey Sappho,” Emmael grinned, throwing out an arm to put her hand on Reginante’s shoulder. “This is the one I’ve been telling you about - this is Reginante!”

The woman - Sappho, Reginante supposes - looked over at Reginante and her gaze sharpened. “_Is_ it now,” she said, glancing between the two of them[8]. She held out her hand, and Reginante was, not for the first time, grateful that Emmael had taught her about handshakes before she had been caught out not knowing what they are. She grasped Sappho’s hand confidently, and if she dipped into her demonic strength just enough to make her wince, well. It would be her little secret.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Sappho said, grimacing and rubbing at her palm. “It often feels like Emma talks about nothing else.” 

Emmael blushed, but Reginante was almost too distracted to notice. “Em-ma,” she said, feeling out the syllables. “Is that what you’re going by now?”

Emmael - Emma - shrugged. “It was a bit of a mouthful,” she said, movements loose and fluid as she listed to one side. “I like ‘Emma’ better anyway. ‘S more…” she wriggled one hand in front of her face, fingers dancing, “_human_, you know? Not all stuffy like, ugh, Barachiel.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “Smug idiot[9].”

Reginante rolled her eyes, but she could feel the corner of her mouth pulling up in a grin. “You should be careful,” she said, leaning over to keep Sappho from overhearing. “I bet She doesn’t like it much when you insult one of her archangels, hmmm?”

Emma huffed, blowing a piece of disheveled hair off her cheek in the process. “Whatever,” she said. “It’s not like She’s paying much attention anyway.” She leaned over, poking Reginante in the shoulder. “Hey. How often do you hear from _your_ boss? You know, the—” Emma propped her fists on her head, wiggling her pointer fingers to make little horns. 

Reginante shooed her hands away and glared at Sappho, who was still sitting beside them, trying very hard to look like she wasn’t listening to every word they said. “You know, Emma, you might think of trying subtlety sometimes,” Regina said. She stood up, tugging on Emma’s arm. “Come on, let’s go. Before you say some other stupid thing.” 

Emma blew a raspberry in Reginante’s ear as she draped one of her arms over Reginante's shoulder. “Reginaaaante,” she whined, then tipped her head to the side, considering. “You know, you could get a nickname, too!” She grinned in delight at her idea.

“Is ‘Reginante’ too “stuffy” for you, then?” Reginante asked, walking the angel over to an open-air pavilion. Silk banners wafted in the breeze, and bowls of fruit dotted the tables scattered between various pillows, chairs, and padded lounges. Reginante dropped Emma inelegantly on one of the lounges and sat across from her in a padded chair, presenting her with an empty bottle.

“Nahhhh,” Emma slurred, draping herself across the arm of the lounge. “Jus’ think a nickname would be cute! Reginaaaaa.” She smiled vaguely at Reginante. “‘S nice.” 

Demons, historically, do not blush, which is the only reason Reginante didn’t as she wiggled the bottle pointedly in front of Emma. Emma frowned, furrowing her brow in concentration, and slowly the bottle filled up with the wine she’d consumed. 

Emma shuddered, smacking her lips and running her tongue over her teeth. “Ugh,” she said. “I hate that. Never gets any better, does it?” She grimaced. “Sobering up, I mean.”

“An angel lush,” Reginante drawled. “What _will_ the world surprise me with next?”

Emma glared at her and Reginante raised an eyebrow. “Listen,” she said, “you’re the one who was fully willing to babble about your true nature in front of your girlfriend back there. You should be thanking me - I don’t think your kind is supposed to reveal themselves unless it’s to frighten the life out of some peasant.”

Emma leaned back on the lounge and put her hands behind her head. “You’d think that, but…” she sighed. “Like I said, I don’t think She’s paying any attention, and the others care more about how things _look_ than how they _are_.” She turned her head to look at Reginante and paused, as if weighing her words. “I haven’t heard from Her in a long time,” she said, pensive. “Since Eden.”

Reginante laughed. “Wish my boss was as hands-off,” she said, running fingers through her hair to flip it off her shoulder. “She’s constantly giving me updates, telling me how I could have done the last job more ‘demonically,’ whatever that means.” She paused, taking in Emma’s face, still pinched with concern. “What?” she asked. “Do you think she’s still mad at you for giving away that sword, then? Is that why she’s not talking to you?”

“I mean,” Emma said, and then stopped herself, pressing her lips together. Reginante leaned closer, and Emma pushed herself upright to lean in as well. “Listen,” she said, voice barely a whisper, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but.” Emma glanced around, eyes darting from corner to ceiling and back again. “_None_ of us have heard from Her since then. Not a peep.”

Reginante frowned. “Not even the archangels?” she asked.

Emma shook her head. “They won’t admit as much, but no. Not even them.”

“Huh.” Regina sat back in her chair. 

“Yeah,” said Emma. “I know.”

“So how do you know what to, you know, _do_?”

Emma shrugged. “We still get orders from the archangels, sometimes, but you can tell they’re making it up as much as the rest of us are. Mostly you just gotta, you know,” she spread her hands out in front of her, “go with your gut.”

“Sounds better than what I’m working with. I can barely sneeze without having to file paperwork on it,” Reginante said. “We’ve got plans upon rules upon regulations. It’s exhausting, sometimes.”

“At least you _have_ a plan,” Emma said, and flopped back onto the lounge to stare at the ceiling. “We just have The Plan, and even that’s pretty vague.”

“I know,” said Reginante wryly. “I think you’ll find questioning that vagueness is exactly what got me these as a fashion accessory.” She phased one of her wings into existence briefly, black feathers glistening in the fading light.

“Oh,” Emma said. “Right.” She cleared her throat. “Ironic, huh?” she said. “You wanted to know what the plan was, and now you’ve got too much of one.”

“And you didn’t want to upset the boat enough to ask questions, and now you can’t even reach Her to try,” Reginante said, leaning back into the cushions. 

Emma only hummed in reply, easing into a comfortable silence as the sun slowly set behind them.

Hours later, Sappho would find them there, asleep in the darkness, both looking out to the sea[10].

* * *

**787 AD, Ahvaz, Iran**

“I’ve been thinking,” Emma said, dropping down next to Reginante and spreading her arms out over the stair behind them, looking down below them at the people filing into the red-stone amphitheater. “We should work smarter, not harder, yeah?”

Reginante sighed and closed her book, a bookmark miraculously appearing between its pages. “I don’t suppose this can wait until after the poetry recital I was looking forward to, can it?” 

“Pfft,” Emma said, flapping a hand, “Like you haven’t heard all of Abu Nuwas’ stuff already.” She grinned. “You forget that I’ve seen your bookshelves.” 

“And I’ll tell you again that helping me home from the tavern does _not_ give you free license to snoop!” Reginante said, blushing. 

“Excuse you, Regina” Emma said, putting a hand to her chest in fake outrage. “It’s called taking an interest in your friend’s passions.”

“We’re not _friends_,” Reginante said, “and don’t call me that!”

“That’s the point I’m trying to make,” Emma said. “We _could_ be friends, you know - we run into each other often enough that we might as well. Plus,” she grinned, leaning in to speak in a low tone, “it would make my plan a lot easier to pull off.”

“What plan?” Reginante said, intrigued despite herself. 

“The plan to make both our lives easier,” Emma said, reeling her in. “The plan where you get to break free of rules and regulations, and I get to know exactly what I’m doing for once.”

“Emma,” Reginante said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Emma grinned, brushing imaginary lint off the deep blue sash draped over her shoulder, vibrant against her cream-colored robe. “I’m talking about you doing my job, and me doing yours,” she said, nonchalantly.

Reginante gaped at her. “You want me to do _what_?” 

“Hush, Regina,” Emma said, winking when Reginante growled. “The recital’s starting.”

* * *

**1121 AD, Northumbria, England**

“I can’t do it,” Reginante said. “This is ridiculous.”

“Relax,” Emma said, “it’ll be _fine_. Just, you know. Go with the flow.” She looked at Reginante, taking in her visibly tense shoulders, and evidently reconsidered. “Nevermind,” she said. “Just - follow my lead, okay?”

Emma stepped out from behind the tree and into the square, an ethereal light shining upon her from some invisible source. The townspeople stopped and stared, eyes wide, then fell to the ground in supplication as Emma spoke. “Be not afraid!” she intoned, trumpets sounding in her voice. “For I speak as the voice of God.”

“Show-off,” Reginante muttered, but smoothed out the borrowed white robe she wore and stepped out to join Emma, summoning a glow of her own. “We are here,” she said, and cleared her throat, glancing at Emma who nodded encouragingly. “We are here to aid you in your time of need.” She smiled sharply. “Tell us - who among you is the worthiest of our help?”

Emma turned to glare at her, and Reginante shrugged. True, she was going off-script, but what was the point in all this if not to color outside the lines? Reginante had dealt with enough infernal red tape to last her a hundred lifetimes, she certainly wasn’t going to just trade it out for angelic hand-wringing instead. 

Emma raised her voice against the sudden squabbling of the crowd. “Please!” she boomed, “I know the decision is difficult, but surely there must be one among you who is in dire need?”

Silence fell as the villagers looked down and away from them, scratching their shoes against the ground awkwardly. Finally, a voice piped up from the back. “My brother, miss!” the voice said, and the crowd parted to reveal a small boy in dirty clothes. “He’s very sick,” the boy said. “Please, can’t you help him?”

Reginante stepped forward, then hesitated, before kneeling down in the mud to look the boy in the eyes. “We will do our best,” she said, trying to infuse her aura with the same kind of comfortable warmth she could always feel radiating from Emma[11].

It must work, because the boy is looking up at her in awe, and when she holds out her hand, he doesn’t hesitate to take it in his own. 

He leads them to a mill at the edge of the village, the water wheel on the side of it eerily still in the midday sun. He tugs on Reginante’s hand. “Come on,” he says. “He’s inside.”

Ducking through the doorway, the first thing Reginante notices is the stench - lighted censers by the bed in the corner billow clouds of incense, obscuring the child within. 

“Who’s that?” said a voice from the bedside. “Henry, is that you?”

“They’re angels, mother!” the boy – Henry – replied , releasing Reginante’s hand and rushing forward. “They’re here to help Aelred get better!”

The fresh air brought in by the open door had cleared the room a little, and Reginante could see a woman, face drawn with fear and exhaustion, kneeling by the bedside. From the position of her hands, she had been praying. Suddenly self-conscious, Reginante increased the glow that hovered around her and stepped forward. 

“Can it be true?” the woman said, “Did you come to answer our prayers?”

“Uh,” said Reginante, and snapped her fingers.

The world froze.

Reginante slumped, releasing the tension in her shoulders as she moved away from the woman who was stuck in time, one hand reaching out to where Reginante had been standing.

“Why’d you do that?” Emma asked, walking over to poke at the boy, who was frozen in the process of climbing onto the bed with his brother. He didn’t budge. “You were doing so well!”

“I didn’t know what to _say_, Emma!” Reginante said, wringing her hands together. “How am I supposed to pretend to be an angel? How do you comfort these people?” She grabbed Emma’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “What if I say the wrong thing and they figure out I’m a demon? Oh, Satan, they’ll kill me, won’t they—”

Emma reached up and cradled Reginante’s cheek with her hand, and Reginante sputtered to a stop, startled. “Chill out,” Emma said, and smiled. “Unless you curse their crops or sleep with their husband, they’re not likely to start calling you a demon. We’re just here to heal a sick child, okay?” She stroked her thumb across Reginante’s cheek, and Reginante’s heart thumped in her chest. “It’s gonna be _fine_.”

Reginante nodded shakily. “Right,” she said. “It’s gonna be fine.” 

With one last squeeze of Emma’s shoulders, she resumed her position by the bed, took a deep breath, and snapped her fingers.

The world restarted.

* * *

Hours later, the front door to the mill house opened, spilling warmth and light out into the darkness as Regina and Emma staggered through it, their arms laden with loaves of bread. 

“Thank you again,” the miller’s wife said, pressing a hand to her heart. “I don’t know how we can possibly repay you.”

“You and Eilaf have been more than generous,” Reginante said, nodding to the miller standing behind her. “We simply came to heal the boy - you’ve done more than enough.” 

“Yeah,” Emma said from beside her, tearing off a chunk of bread with her teeth. She mumbled through her mouthful, “Dinner was delicious.” 

“You won’t forget us, will you?” a voice asked from below, and Reginante looked down to see the boy who had fetched them from the village square.

Quickly shifting her gifted loaves over to one arm, she kneeled down and put one hand on his shoulder. “Henry,” she said sincerely, “I can promise that I will never forget the kindness you and your family have shown me- have shown _us_ tonight.”

Henry studied her for a moment, then smiled, reassured. “Good,” he said, and gave her a kiss on the cheek before he ran back inside, giggling. 

Reginante placed a hand over her cheek and smiled softly, standing as Emma said farewell to the family and the door to the mill closed, cutting off the light and leaving the two celestial beings in darkness. 

“So,” Emma said, ripping off another hunk of bread and offering it to her, “how’d it feel?”

“The beginning was rough,” Reginante said, taking the bread, “all that ‘BE NOT AFRAID’ nonsense. I don’t think it’s my style.” She sniffed the bread and smiled softly at its warm, comforting scent. “The healing, though. That felt… wonderful.”

“The gratitude’s not half bad either, huh?” asked Emma. “Nothing like a good dinner to really make you feel like a job well done.”

“It would have been perfect,” Reginante said, “except for the part where you shot beer out your nose at that joke Eilaf told.”

Emma blushed and Reginante relented, nudging her with her shoulder. “No, it was lovely,” she said.

“Thinking of switching back to my side, then?” Emma asked, looking at her sidelong.

Regina snorted. “Not likely,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, this was nice - but there are still people who need to be punished, power to be disrupted, temptations to be…. Tempted.” 

Emma laughed, and Regina waved a hand at her. “Listen, shut up, the point is: just because I healed someone doesn’t mean it was a good deed. You don’t know what that boy is going to grow up to do! He could become a… a general, or a dictator, or - or a used horse salesman!”[12]

“Sure,” said Emma, “definitely not a good deed, then.”

“No,” Regina said, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling, “Definitely not.”

* * *

**1475 AD, Florence, Italy**

“Regina,” a voice called from the back of the cluttered workshop, “have you seen my third-favorite paintbrush?”

“It’s here, Leonardo,” she called back, sweeping aside some sketches to reveal it. 

“Ah!” he gasped, rounding the corner and clapping his hands in delight. “Thank you, thank you for your help, you are an _angel_!” he said, kissing her on both cheeks before grabbing the paintbrush and bustling back to the other end of the workshop. 

“I know some people who would be surprised to hear that,” a familiar voice drawled as a shadow filled the doorway, and Emma stepped in from the blazingly bright outdoors. “_Regina_,” she added, nodding at her with a knowing smile.

Regina rolled her eyes and leaned her hip against the table behind her. “Okay, okay,” she said reluctantly, spreading her hands in surrender. “Listen carefully, because you’re only going to hear this once: you were right.”

Emma grinned, moving a wooden model of a trebuchet and a stack of sketches featuring a woman’s face off a stool so she could take a seat. “_”Don’t call me that!”_” she said, pitching her voice into a horrible falsetto.

“I sound nothing like that and you know it,” Regina said, lifting her chin. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Emma hummed, and Regina swore her eyes _twinkled_. Disgusting. 

“Is there something in particular you wanted, or are you just here to gloat?” Regina asked, busying herself by cleaning off the table, although mostly she just ended up shifting stacks of paper from one end to the other and back again.

“Just checking in, seeing how it’s going,” Emma said, grabbing up one of the quill pens as Regina scooped them up. She twirled it between her fingers. “Making sure our plan is still working out, you know, for you.”

Regina snatched the quill back and dropped it into the drawer with the rest, shoving it closed. “You mean the plan where sometimes I do your job and spend the whole time worrying that I’m going to get found out and dunked in holy water?” she asked, making the most of the slight height advantage she had while Emma was seated to loom over her, arms crossed. “Oh, yes, it’s going _great_, thanks so much for asking.”

Emma rolled her eyes and stared her down until Regina sighed. “Listen, if you want to tell me how the temptation I gave you went, just tell me. We don’t have to go through this nonsense every time.”

“Fine,” Emma said, leaning back and bracing her hands on the seat of the stool behind her, pushing her chest forward as she stretched. “Forgive me for wanting to catch up a little, see how your day is going,” she said, groaning as her back popped. She glanced up, studying the flying contraption on the ceiling as she said, “besides, you already know it went well, anyway. I have to file enough post-sin paperwork every time to kill a whole forest of trees.”[13] She flexed her hand out to the side, as if to demonstrate how wearied she was by it, and gave Regina an exaggerated pout. 

“Oh, poor dear,” Regina simpered in mock sympathy. “This was your idea, I’ll remind you,” she said, shifting another pile of papers to the side. “I didn’t even want to do it.”

“But you _love_ it,” Emma said, smirking. “You love getting to do whatever you want for once, and making your own decisions. And I,” she pointed at her face, “love to have a plan to follow.” She sighed. “It’s so nice to not have to think and make decisions for a change. Is that why demons are all so stupid?”

“Pardon me?”

Emma waved a hand. “Oh, not you,” she said, “just the others. They’re all so dim - just up here to accomplish a task, you know. Do their temptation and get back downstairs. They don’t,” she scrunched her face, gesturing loosely with her hands, searching for the right word. “They don’t _strive_, you know? They don’t wanna try new things, or learn about the world.” She sighed. “It’s depressing, honestly.”

“Well, considering all the other angels I’ve met have been flighty, vague simpletons, maybe you and I are just exceptions to the rule,” Regina said, unearthing another quill from the pile and flicking Emma’s nose with it before putting it into the drawer where it belonged. 

Emma wrinkled her nose and grinned up at her, then got a serious look in her eye. She opened her mouth to say something - 

“My dear Miss Mills,” Leonardo said, suddenly wandering back into the room, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my notebook, have you?”

“It’s behind your easel, where you left it this morning while we were painting.”

“Oh!” he said, beaming. “Quite right you are, too. Don’t know what I’d do without you, really.” 

As he wandered back to the other end of the workshop, Emma turned to Regina, a grin splitting her face. She waggled her eyebrows. “_Mills_, huh?”

Regina sniffed. “Humans find it quite confusing if you don’t have a surname,” she said. “Don’t read anything into it.”

“No, of course not,” Emma said, “demons don’t get attached, after all.”

Regina rolled her eyes, but the soft smile they shared in that cluttered workshop stayed in her thoughts for years to come.

* * *

And so it went for centuries - long enough for Regina to get complacent. She fell into a routine, learning to enjoy the small breaks that came with swapping roles with Emma. She even relaxed, if only a little, and stopped looking over her shoulder every time Emma dropped in on her, stopped expecting the world to end because she stepped out of line.

Which is, of course, when the Apocalypse came.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Angels are easy to spot, in Reginante’s opinion, and this one was particularly obvious. If the stark-white wings hadn’t given her away, the flax-blonde curls and smug expression surely would have. You could feel the self-righteousness practically wafting from her. [return to text]
> 
> [2] She was particularly pleased when she scared them enough to get them to emit sulphur spontaneously. The smell was horrendous, but the satisfaction was unbeatable. [return to text]
> 
> [3] It wasn’t. [return to text]
> 
> [4] It would definitely have been simpler, this much is true. It is also true that Reginante was incapable of doing things the simple way, which explains a lot of what happens next. [return to text]
> 
> [5] A bluff that didn’t stretch high enough to save any of the unlucky residents when the flood did come, Reginante noted with no small amount of disdain. But it was nonetheless just high enough to spot a pure-white unicorn with its horn stuck in a tree. [return to text]
> 
> [6] Five feet and five inches - a height she claims is both slightly above average and enough to be intimidating. Only one of those statements is true. [return to text]
> 
> [7] Wings, like many items of narrative convenience, exist only when they are needed, and spend the rest of their time folded up in a pocket dimension where they can’t cause trouble. [return to text]
> 
> [8] Stand and face me, my love,  
and scatter the grace in your eyes  
-Sappho, fragment 138  
A subtle poet she is not. [return to text]
> 
> [9] Honestly, though, with a name that means “Blessed by God,” you’re kind of destined to be a bit of a ponce. You really think She would have thought that out more. [return to text]
> 
> [10] Come to me now and loosen me  
from blunt agony. Labor  
and fill my heart with fire. Stand by me  
and be my ally.  
-Sappho, fragment 1 [return to text]
> 
> [11] This is not, shall we say, a standard angelic trait, but more a concentrated effort by the universe to get Reginante to notice what’s been in front of her this whole time. There have been, unsurprisingly, quite a few such efforts, and so far she’s missed every single one. [return to text]
> 
> [12] Aelred, of course, did not become any of those things. In fact, he became a monk and, later, a saint. [return to text]
> 
> [13] While the deforestation aspect was a happy accident (climate change as a whole is a human invention - lower management was very impressed with their ingenuity, really), paperwork is and always has been a demonic invention. Especially forms that must be completed in triplicate. [return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

**2001 AD, Maine**

“The _what_?!” Emma’s voice was tinny over the line, echoing in the spacious kitchen of Regina’s house. She’d conjured it for herself back during the 1600s, to give herself a home base during the witch trials, and she was grateful for it now, with her mind occupied by more important matters than shelter.[14]

“The antichrist, Emma,” Regina sighed, leaning over the basket to look at the infant again, swaddled in a blanket. It had little yellow ducklings on it. Regina tickled one of the tiny toes sticking out from the blanket and grinned as the baby cooed. 

“No, I mean, I heard you the first time,” Emma said. “I’m just… _what_. It seems so, I dunno.” She sighed. “Sudden.”

“It’s been six thousand years, Emma,” Regina said. “Six thousand and four years, nine months, and twenty-five days to be exact. How long did you think it would last before my side made their move?”

Regina can practically hear Emma’s shrug over the connection. “Longer than this, I guess,” Emma sigh. “Thought I had more time.”

“Time for what? Anyway, we’ve still got eleven years until this sweetheart grows into his power,” Regina said, stroking a finger across the baby’s cheek. “Do you think his skin is so soft because he’s the antichrist?”

“What?” Emma laughed. “No, Regina, that’s just a baby thing. And don’t get attached to him!” 

“I’m not getting attached!” Regina said, in an attached sort of way. “But I can’t just let him lay here in this basket like he’s a loaf of bread I picked up, can I? He’s a _baby_.”

“He’s _The Adversary_,” Emma said. “You know - Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Lord of Darkness, etcetera?”

“Well,” Regina said, wrinkling her nose, “His Dark Highness appears to have soiled his diaper. Seems like a baby to me.” She shifted her phone to squeeze it between her shoulder and ear, picking the baby up out of the basket with her now-free hands. “Who needs a change?” she crooned at the baby. “Whoooo needs a change? Is it you? Is it you?” She gasped theatrically, wiggling him back and forth, rubbing her nose against his as he giggled. “I think it is!”

“Reginaaaaaa,” Emma whined over the phone. “Just promise me you won’t do something rash, okay? We still have time to figure out a plan.”

“I’ll call you back later,” was all Regina said, and she hung up before Emma could do more than let out an irritated squawk. 

Regina lifted the baby and considered him. He wrinkled his nose and scrunched up his legs before dramatically thrusting them back out again in an exaggerated stretch. Regina smiled, draping him over her shoulder as she walked toward the changing table that suddenly had always existed in the bathroom off the kitchen. 

“What does she think I’ll do with you, anyway?” she asked him as she patted his back reassuringly. “Keep you?” She scoffed. “Not likely.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re keeping him.” 

“You’ve had a week to get used to the idea,” Regina said, not even taking her eyes off the baby in her arms as Emma draped herself dramatically over the arm of the sofa. “Just think of this as an extension of the plan.” 

“The Plan?”[15] Emma asked, confused. “Or the plan?”

“_Our_ plan,” Regina said, rolling her eyes. “I’m just… thinking outside the box a little.” She started pacing, Emma’s eyes following her as she bounced the baby up and down the living room. “You don’t want the world to end, right? And neither do I.”

Emma flopped over and slouched down into the cushions, her blonde curls fluffing up of the collar of the ridiculously garish leather jacket she had taken to wearing recently. She sighed, blowing a strand of hair off her face, and said, “No, of course not – it’s way better down here than it is up in that stuffy place.” She strummed an invisible harp and put on a simpering expression. “’Oh, _Emma_,’” she said, in a grating, nasal voice, “don’t you just _love_ playing celestial harmonies day in and day out?” She groaned and dropped her hands over her face. “But how are we supposed to stop it? It’s the fucking Apocalypse, Regina, not a simple temptation or thwarting.”

“_We_ won’t do anything,” Regina said, shifting the baby on her hip and gazing down at him. “The only way we can pull it off is if _this_ cutie,” she cooed, booping the baby’s nose, “grows up to want the same thing.”

“And how are we supposed to make that happen?” Emma said. “If I can remind you, this whole shitshow kicks off when he turns eleven!”

Regina put a hand over the baby’s ear to press the other against her chest and block out their conversation. “Language, Emma!” she scolded. “You’re supposed to be the good influence, remember? Besides, humans can do a lot with eleven years.” 

Emma sighed. “This is a stupid idea,” she said, crossing her arms. 

Regina quirked an eyebrow at her. “Have you seen the other things you’ve talked me into?” she said.

Emma let out a rueful laugh. “Point taken.” She sat up, bracing her hands on her knees as she got to her feet. “I still want it stated for the record that this was your plan, just in case it all goes tits up.” 

“Considering you haven’t suggested one, single better idea, I will gladly take the blame for coming up with a way to save the world,” Regina said, and shifted the baby to one side to stick out her hand. “Co-parents, then?” she asked. “For the sake of the world, of course.”

“Right,” said Emma, clasping her hand in her own, stroking Regina’s palm absentmindedly with her thumb as she smiled at her. “For the world.”

* * *

**What Follows Are Snapshots of a Very Unusual Childhood, as Experienced by One Henry Emmanuel Mills (Antichrist).**

* * *

_Age: 22 days_

“Pbbbbtththhhhh,” Emma said, blowing a raspberry into the baby’s face, inches away from her on the blanket laid out on the living room floor. There were boxes scattered everywhere, but a space had been cleared in the middle, and a veritable hoard of baby toys, soft blankets, and stuffed animals were scattered across it. 

The baby, stomach-down on the blanket, pushed up slightly on his arms and smiled before letting out a raspberry-like noise of his own.

Emma smiled and looked up to where Regina was placing books into the bookcase. “Did you see that?” she said, “The kiddo smiled at me!”

Regina glanced down at her with a smile of her own, which folded into a concerned frown. “We can’t really keep calling him that, can we?” she said.

“Calling him what?” Emma said, already distracted again by tickling his cheeks with her fingertips.

“Kiddo,” Regina said, kneeling down next to Emma on the blanket and ticking the names off on her fingers. “Baby, boy, The Child, etcetera. If we’re going to raise him like a normal human child, he needs a normal human child name.”

“I guess not,” Emma hummed, resting her chin on her folded hands.

“What do you name the Antichrist, anyway?” Regina said.

Emma snorted. “Damien,” she said. 

“Emma!” Regina scolded. “Be serious. Besides,” she huffed, “that movie was _terrible_.”

“What about Warlock, then?”

“Do you want him to get bullied his entire school career?” Regina asked. “I know exactly how cruel children and teachers alike can be.” 

“Sam?”

“Sam…” Regina said slowly. “That’s not bad, actually.”

“It’s short for Samael,” Emma said, hiding her smile by pressing her face into her hands.

“Be _serious_!” Regina said, smacking her on the shoulder with a laugh. “What’s your obsession with giving him a Satanic name, anyway?”

Emma shrugged, shoulders tensing defensively. “I mean, he _is_ the antichrist - he was kind of created for a purely demonic purpose.”

“Yes,” Regina said, “but the whole point of us doing this is that maybe, in the end, that won’t _have_ to be all that he is. Right?” She nudged Emma with her knee. “You and I, we’re giving him that chance.”

Emma softened, shoulders relaxing. “Yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.” She rolled over, folding her hands on her stomach. “What about Henry?”

“Henry…” Regina repeated, thinking about soft candlelight in a mill house, and a family full of love and generosity. “Yes,” she said nodding. “It’s perfect.”

* * *

_Age: 10 months_

As it turns out, raising the Antichrist is no small job.

“I thought a lifetime of watching out for the fragile little creatures would have made you better at this,” Regina said, biting out the words between huffs of breath as she shoved on the sofa to tilt it upwards and look underneath.

“Well _usually_,” Emma yelled from the kitchen, pulling open cabinet doors and letting them slam closed with, Regina thought, far too much force, “I can use _miracles_ so I don’t _lose_ them in an _enormous house_!” As she threw her arms wide and shouted the last words into the cavernous entryway between the kitchen and living room, Regina’s ears perked up at the tiny giggle she could hear over the fading echoes. 

“Shhh,” she said, striding over and placing her hand over Emma’s mouth, “listen.” Emma licked a long, wet stripe across her hand and Regina jerked it back, grimacing. “Sometimes I think I’m raising two infants,” she said, turning her back as Emma stuck her tongue out at her. 

“Besides,” Regina said, pushing aside the coats on the rack by the front door to find Henry, hair tousled wildly on top of his head as he giggled again, “who needs flashy, sure-to-get-us-spotted miracles anyway?” She picked him up and propped him up on her hip, booping him lightly on the nose. “I think we’re doing just fine, don’t you, my little Prince of Darkness?”

Henry grinned gummily at her, and promptly spit up all over her dress.

“Yeah,” Emma said, biting her lip in a visible effort to keep from laughing at Regina’s expression. “Everything’s perfect.”

* * *

_Age: 4 years_

“What,” Regina said frostily, “on _Earth_ are you wearing.”

Emma looked down at herself, smoothing her hands down the flowery dress self-consciously. “A dress?” she said, but she sounded unsure. “It’s what moms wear, right?”

“And where did you get that ridiculous idea?” Regina asked, putting the plate she had been washing into the drying rack and wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You’ve been parenting just fine in your ridiculous leather jackets for four years now. Why the change?” 

Emma glanced to where Henry was sitting at the breakfast counter, kicking his feet against the rungs of the stool and eating his after-school snack.[16]

Regina gestured to the adjoining room and followed Emma into it, closing the door until only a crack remained for them to keep an eye on Henry through.

Emma shrugged, her hunched shoulders making her look small. “I dunno,” she said, voice quiet. “Just something Henry said the other day – that I don’t look like the other mommies.” She scuffed a foot on the tile. “I didn’t want to make us stand out.”

“Emma,” Regina said, leaning against the doorjamb, “we’re two unmarried women co-parenting a child. We’re already drawing human attention anyway. And this,” she gestured derisively at the outfit, “isn’t going to keep us from being noticed by either of our sides, if it comes to that. Go change back, okay?”

“Is it that bad, really?” Emma asked, and Regina nearly laughed before seeing the pinched expression on Emma’s face. 

“It’s not bad,” Regina said, “but it’s not _you_.” She stepped closer and put one hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Your old clothes – loathe as I am to say it – were much better than whatever you raided out of some poor grandma’s closet.” 

Emma laughed damply, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “I knew it,” she said, nudging Regina in the ribs playfully. “I knew you liked the way I look.”

“Shut up and get out of that hideous thing,” Regina said. 

But she didn’t deny it.

* * *

_Age: 9 years_

“But it’s not _fair_!” Henry whined, his mouth an downturned curve of despair. 

“Yeah, well,” Emma said, “_life’s_ not fair, kid!”

Henry stomped a foot and shrieked. “I hate you!” he yelled. 

Emma froze, and the words echoed in the hall, loud in the sudden silence.

“Go to your room,” Emma said, pointing a shaking finger at the stairs.

“Fine,” Henry said, and thundered up to his room, slamming the door after him. 

Emma stumbled to the living room and dropped onto to the couch, rubbing her face with a hand. Regina pushed off from the kitchen doorway where she’d been observing them and followed her, perching on the arm of the sofa.

“That looked like fun,” she said, reaching out a tentative hand to push a strand of hair behind Emma’s ear. Emma sighed and leaned her head into the touch, so Regina moved to card her fingers through her hair. 

“I feel like I’m doing this all wrong,” Emma said, voice slightly muffled by Regina’s skirt. “Aren’t I supposed to be the good mom?”

Regina sighed. “That’s not how this works and you know it,” she said, tugging gently on Emma’s hair. “You’re not all good, and I’m not all bad. Our job is to teach Henry that that’s okay.”

“It doesn’t feel like I’m teaching him anything except how to hate me,” Emma said, and sniffed despondently. 

“He doesn’t actually hate you, you know,” Regina said. “He loves you. He’s said as much, remember?”

Emma smiled. “Yeah,” she sighed, then nudged Regina’s thigh. “You cried the first time he said it, too.”

“Nonsense,” Regina said. “Everyone knows demons can’t cry.”

“Ha! Good one.”

They sat in comfortable silence a moment longer, Emma’s head on Regina’s hip as Regina played with the ends of her hair.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Regina said, finally. “I have faith in us.”

“A demon with faith,” Emma said, gazing up at her with a soft smile. “Ain’t that a just a kick in the head?”

“Shut up and go get washed up for dinner,” Regina said. “I’ll call Henry down and have a talk with him about how he addressed you.”

“Yes, dear,” Emma said, deadpan, but Regina smiled at the blush that covered her cheeks anyway.

* * *

_Age: 11 years_

Somehow, when it came, it was still a surprise.

Of course they knew it was coming – it was the entire reason they had started this adventure in the first place, after all. 

But somehow eleven years of it – eleven years of raising Henry, eleven years of chores and family dinners and soccer games and fights – it had gone by so fast. 

They were awoken by the baying of hounds. 

Regina bolted out of bed and ran into the hallway. Emma was already at the threshold to her own room, hair wild and pajamas askew. “Did they find us?” she asked, tugging on one of her jackets and trying to stomp into her boots. “What’s happening?”

Regina snapped her fingers, dropping Emma into her regular outfit and miracling her own onto herself as well. “It’s started,” she said. “No sense in holding back on the miracles now.” She turned and strode towards Henry’s room. “They’ve scented him out.”

“Wait!” Emma cried. “It’s too soon! He only just turned eleven – how did they find him so fast?” She hugged herself, arms tight across her stomach. “How did we already run out of time?”

Regina pulled open Henry’s door, reaching over to shake their son by the shoulder. “Henry,” she said. “Henry. It’s time to wake up.”

“Mom?” Henry asked, rubbing his eyes. “Momma?” He turned to look out the window as the sound of the hounds grew louder. “What’s going on?” 

Emma’s mouth twisted into a sad smile. “You know how we’ve always told you that you’re a very special boy, and one day you’ll have to make a very important decision?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Henry said, yawning. “It’s my duty to myself and to the world, it’s not something I should rush into, I need to take my time - I know, I know.” He rolled his eyes, every inch the pre-teen. “Why are you waking me up to ask me about it in the middle of the night?”

“Because we’re going to have to rush into it,” Regina said, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You have to decide what you’re going to do,” she glanced anxiously out the window, “and soon.”

The house shook, suddenly, and the sound of splintering wood came from downstairs. Emma ran out into the hallway and looked down the stairwell. “They’re breaking down the door!” she yelled, looking frantically back at Regina. “Take him back into your room – I’ll hold them off!”

“Emma, no!” Regina said, even as Henry cried, “Momma, you can’t!”

The house shook again as Emma hurried back to their side. “I have to,” she said, putting a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “I know you can do this,” she said to him, leaning down to kiss him on the crown of the head. “I love you, kid”

“Momma, no,” Henry cried, clutching at her waist. 

Regina reached out her own hand, grabbing her jacket by the sleeve. “Stay with us,” she pleaded. “What’s the point in sacrificing yourself like this?”

“The point is to keep you both safe,” Emma said. “You have to help him, Regina.” A tear dripped from the corner of her eye to darken the front of her shirt. “You were always better at this than I was, anyway.”

She cupped Regina’s cheek and leaned in, kissing her softly. Regina gaped at her and Emma smiled. “I know you can do this, too,” she said, and lifted her other hand. 

“Don’t you dare,” Regina said. “Don’t you dare do some stupid heroic thing like—”

But it was too late. Emma snapped her fingers, and Regina and Henry were engulfed in a bright white light, and silence. 

Henry blinked his eyes, clearing them of tears and spots from the light as Regina did the same. “Where,” he said, “where are we? What did she do?”

Regina looked around. They were in a featureless void, surrounded on all sides by nothing but the brightest light she had ever seen, and the comforting aura Regina had always associated with Emma. “She gave us time,” she whispered. 

“Time to do what?” Henry asked, looking up at her. 

“Time to figure out what we want,” Regina said, and kneeled down to hold his hands. “Henry,” she said seriously. “We didn’t get to prepare you nearly as much as we wanted to, but you have to know – we love you very much, and we will stand by you, no matter what decision you make.”

“But,” Henry said, face twisting in confusion, “what if I decide I do want to end the world? I mean,” he said, “It would stop the wars, and the pollution, and all the bad things – but it would also mean destroying everything else.” His skin was starting to glow, now, patterns of light shifting under his skin as he came into his birthright.

“That’s your decision,” Regina said. “That’s what you were put here to do, so it’s your right to do it. But,” she said, squeezing his hands, “it’s not the _only_ thing you can do. That’s what we’ve been trying to teach you, remember?”

“I remember,” said Henry, now so bright it was almost painful to look at him, “of course I do, but how do I _decide_?”

Regina brushed a finger along his cheek to wipe away the tear that fell, and cupped his trembling chin, squinting into the brightness. “Hush,” she said gently, “it’s okay. Use the gift Emma gave us, and think.” She took a deep breath, urging Henry to do the same. “What do you _want_, Henry? Not what should you do, or what do you think other people want. What do you, Henry Mills, want to happen now?”

Henry squeeze his eyes closed, clutching Regina’s hands. “I wanna be normal,” he said, breath speeding up and words coming faster as he spoke. “I want Emma to be safe! I don’t wanna worry about this stuff anymore! I want!” he was shouting now, inherited power infusing his every word with a trembling weight, “to go _HOME_!”

And with his last word, the world that Emma created for them pulsed with the light of a thousand suns, and plunged them into darkness.

* * *

The house was silent, still in the fading afternoon, dust motes dancing in the beams of sunlight coming in from the undisturbed windows. 

“Reginaaaaaaaaa!”

The yell that broke the silence echoed down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Regina was slicing apples for Henry’s after school snack. Rolling her eyes, she washed her hands in the sink and dried them before climbing the stairs, silent in socked feet, and snuck up behind Emma, who was rummaging furiously in the closet. 

“Yes, dear?” she said, and grinned as Emma yelped and jerked her head up, smacking it into the shelf above her with a painful-sounding _thwock_.

Emma collapsed to her knees, clutching her head in agony. “Auuugh,” she groaned, “why would you _do_ that?” She rubbed the top of her head, wincing at Regina. “Especially since I can’t heal it with a snap of my fingers now – concussions are bad for humans, I’m pretty sure.”

Regina rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re fine, she said, but she ran her fingers along the top of Emma’s head to check for bumps, just in case. Emma pouted up at her, and Regina dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she said, and grinned. “I’ll be sure to take your delicate human constitution into account in future.”

Emma growled and lunged at her, scooping her up and dropping her onto their bed. “I’ll show you delicate!” she shouted, tickling Regina mercilessly. “Who faced down a whole horde of hellspawn by herself, hmmm?”

Regina shrieked, kicking out at her. “Only because you were too stubborn to listen to me!” she said, trying fruitlessly to roll away from her.

“Hah!” Emma crowed in triumph as she pinned Regina’s hands and leaned over, grinning down at her. “Gotcha,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Regina whispered, “you do.” She leaned up and kissed Emma gently, pulling away to see the awed expression Emma still got when she did that, even months after it began. 

The slamming of the front door suddenly broke their reverie, and they both turned to the bedroom door as Henry yelled, “Mooooms?? I’m hoooome!” 

Emma buried her head in Regina’s chest, laughing, as Regina freed a hand to smack her in the shoulder. “He gets that from you, you know,” she said, and then heard a heavy backpack _thump_ to the floor and the refrigerator door open shortly after. “Come on,” she grunted, trying to heave Emma off her, “let me up before your son eats us out of house and home.”

“Oh, so he’s _my_ son now?” Emma asked, climbing to her feet and reaching a hand over to help Regina up. “As I recall, it was your decision to adopt him in the first place.”

“Yes,” Regina said, smoothing out her dress and stopping in the doorway to look back at Emma as she left, “and I think it was a job well done, don’t you?”

“It’s not over yet,” Emma said, and reached over to pinch Regina’s hip.

“Thank goodness,” Regina laughed. “Last one to the kitchen doesn’t get any cupcakes,” she said, and broke for the stairs before Emma could react. 

“No fair!” Emma yelled, scrambling after her. “Cheater!” she roared as they stumbled into the kitchen moments apart, scooping Regina up and nuzzling her shoulder. “Once a demon, always a demon, I guess.”

Regina glanced back over her shoulder, flirting an eyebrow at her. “Why do you think I’m still so good at temptation?” she said, and Emma laughed so hard she almost dropped her.

“Gross,” Henry said from the counter, chin covered in cupcake crumbs, but he was smiling.

* * *

And they all lived humanly ever after. [17]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [14] The house had, of course, updated itself with modern amenities to suit Regina’s needs, and cleansed itself of hundreds of years of disrepair. Just because she wasn’t actively thinking about it didn’t mean that her powers had any trouble making her standards clear to the universe. [return to text]
> 
> [15] If your hearing were as sharp as a celestial being’s, you, too, would be able to Hear Capital Letters. They are Very Distinctive. [return to text]
> 
> [16] Carrot sticks, apple slices, and a cheese stick – Emma had argued that it made more sense to try to balance his snack choices to be half good and half bad, too. Mostly, she meant that Henry (and, by extension, Emma) should be allowed to eat cupcakes whenever they wanted. She was overruled. [return to text]
> 
> [17] Which, for two formerly-immortal beings and their completely normal son, is a much better ending than something as boring as Happily Ever After, I’m sure you’ll agree. [return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story - I know I loved writing it. There are so many more tales of this family that I couldn't fit in here, so I may be tempted to do some missing scenes in the future, but for now, I hope you enjoyed their adventures.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ineffable [Protostar Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496167) by [anoblebattle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoblebattle/pseuds/anoblebattle)


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